His Last, Best Lieutenant
by Infernal Racket
Summary: After Bellatrix dies, Narcissa writes a diary to keep her memory alive.
1. May 2nd, 1998

**May 2nd, 1998 **

Lucius believes that writing down my thoughts could help quell the bad and keep the good, it could help to organise my mind and help myself on the way to acceptance and understanding. One thing I do understand, one thing that I have established, is that I never want to accept or forget. I have my own motive for writing: remembrance. The mere fact that I have finally picked up a quill will satisfy Lucius, and scribbling down any scrap of detail regarding my sister will help me. I want to scream and cry and let myself fall apart but I cannot because I am a Black.

I have nothing more to lose, Bellatrix is already gone, so I must look at this as an opportunity to gain. Memories fade with time but a written document will last forever. Even after I have joined Bellatrix wherever she might now, this will live on, us Black sisters and our tale will linger.

This will be the story of Bellatrix Black Lestrange, how she rose from the ranks and proved her talents, how she loved, hated, lost, and how she fell.


	2. May 3rd, 1998

Hi! So I didn't write a disclaimer or any notes on the first chapter because I wanted it to be as it is and hopefully have people continue to read on because they liked it, not because of promises I might make regarding future chapters! If you're reading this now it must have worked, hallelujah! This is a rewrite because I posted the first draft half asleep. Hopefully after this one you'll see where I'm going with the idea. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (I own nothing)

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**May 3rd, 1998**

I saw her today, only it wasn't really her. It was a carcass stripped of life, of energy, of Bellatrix.

She looked to be sleeping, I could have believed it if it had been anybody else; Bellatrix was never quiet or still, not even when she was sleeping. Her slumber always provided an array of sound effects: snoring, grunting, mumbling, even the occasional burst of laughter. And she was the worst bedmate I have ever had the misfortune to have: wriggling, kicking, squirming.

The Ministry's clean up has begun, as has dealing with the dead. Today's Daily Prophet boasts of giving the deceased a dignified farewell. However, by 'deceased' they mean their deceased, those they deem worthy. Not the notorious Bellatrix Black Lestrange. The undesirables are not worth the cost of a respectable goodbye, not even a space to rest at St. Mungo's whilst arrangements are being made. It's not fair, she is a person too, before a psychotic mass murderer she was a human being. A little girl who craved the attention her siblings stole. A young woman with strong, misinformed beliefs that just wanted to be noticed for her talents.

So I had Lucius use what he had left of his destroyed status at the Ministry to persuade the officials not to dispose of her. It was agreed that we would cover the costs. Money has never been an object, so today I was reunited with my sister once more.

I entered the cold, sterile holding room with a head that felt as though it would split in two. No matter how much I rubbed my temples, the headache persisted. It was not what I expected. I don't know what I expected. It was so normal, she was lying just there.

I stood for a couple of seconds, my stomach churning. I wanted to be small again and to crawl into my big sister's lap and tell her how much I was hurting. I wanted her to wrap her arms around me, to tell me to stop being such a baby, to tell me that everything would be fine. But she was gone, so I folded my arms tightly around my torso and held myself instead.

Bellatrix was never one to willingly offer comfort to others, except me. Maybe it was simply her stepping up to take the responsibility that came with being the big sister, but it always felt like more. She cared and I know it.  
When father passed away, it was Bellatrix who wiped away my tears and patched up my broken heart.  
When I tripped up playing one of her silly nonsense games in the gardens one time and grazed my knee, she picked me up and kissed it better.  
When the boys at school teased me for being so little and scrawny, she told me I was beautiful as I was.  
When I got my first 'below expectations' on a piece of Transfiguration homework in my first year, she told me not to worry because it wasn't the end of the world.

There is a reason she isn't here now to tell me that; this is the end of the world, the end of my world.

I forced myself to keep my eyes open. I made myself look at my dear sister's pale body.

I didn't cry. I couldn't cry, because that thing could not have been my sister. The two things, that lifeless form and my sister, my sister Bella, could not be connected in my mind. They just couldn't. I took a step closer towards the bed that she was resting on, no, the harsh, metal table. My whole body shook, I could hardly see and my headache only worsened. I brushed a raven curl away from her face and my fingertips accidentally connected with her cold cheek. I had to stifle a sob, I had to take a moment to pull myself together. Regardless of the Auror in the room keeping watch, I mumbled sweet promises and declarations of love to what remained of the woman I loved.

I retired to bed early tonight through exhaustion, but I closed my eyes and her lifeless form was still there, pasted on the insides of my eyelids.

I don't know if I will ever sleep again.


	3. May 15th, 1998

Hi again! I'm sure those following this story are getting tired of me rewriting this chapter, but I think I'm finally satisfied. Third time lucky! I want to thank my inspiration for this chapter, she knows who she is. For the final time, hopefully, enjoy! (I own nothing)

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**May 15th, 1998**

The weather is disturbingly beautiful. A gentle breeze teases the leaves of the greenery, making the sparrows that flies above the tops of the surrounding willows anxious. The sun beats down and light pools peacefully on the flat, worn ground, illuminating the multitude of headstones that line the pathways.

It's disgusting. It makes me sick to my stomach as I sit with my legs folded beneath me before the headstone marked with her name.

The earth is mocking her death. The heavens should be angry, rain should pelt the ground with a destructive force, wreaking havoc for those beneath. Bellatrix is gone. The world is no longer balanced, it should be falling apart. There should be chaos not calm.

Instead, a whirlpool of disorder and confusion inhabits me, I feel off-balance. Bellatrix was my constant, my balance depended on her, just like the balance of our earth depends on the sea routinely washing upon the shore, the seasons following their plan and the clockwork precision of the orbiting planets.

Her stone sits in line with one that is similar but old and weathered, etched with our parents' names. Resting indefinitely beside mother and father is probably the last thing Bellatrix would have wanted. Her first aim in life, before she fell irrevocably for the Dark Lord's ideals, was to put as much distance between herself and our dictating parents as possible. I know it is selfish, but I need her here. Those who say their lost loved ones will always dwell within the hearts are talking a load of old tosh. I feel empty; my heart was always reserved only for her. Now that she is gone, she has left a gaping hole, a horrific void. I need something that I can connect to her, something physical that I can see and touch and feel, otherwise she will become lost.

I think Bellatrix would have preferred to have been completely obliterated, wiped clean from the face of the earth so that she could move on and explore what death has to offer. She was never one to stay grounded or allow herself to become weighed down, she was a free spirit.

But I need her here, or at least what is left of her, this stone. I have been dependant on my big sister for as long as I can remember, for as long as she could remember. The one and only memory Bellatrix ever allowed me to see that belonged to her was one of dependency.

I was seventeen, Bellatrix twenty-one, and I had just returned home after an evening of 'bonding' with Lucius, as both sets of our parents liked to call it. I had thoroughly enjoyed myself. I did nothing but smile until I was met with Bellatrix's worse than usual scowl. Taking me by the arm, she dragged me along numerous corridors until we reached our father's study. Inside he kept an old but usable pensive and Bellatrix just short of forced me face-first into the memory.

It was blurry, but I could just make out a two year old me learning to walk, taking my first few steps with my mother's aid. The rare moment of motherly affection didn't last long, however, for the duties of a pureblood wife called and I was left in the company of a little, round-faced Bellatrix. The young version of myself looked at her through big blue eyes, silently flapping my arms helplessly until she huffed in annoyance and reluctantly took my little hands, helping me up from the floor. I put one foot in front of the other and something changed. Bellatrix smiled, and from then on praised me after each step I took. After walking a metre or so, she let go, allowing me the independence to try all by myself. One, two, three steps and I toppled over, but Bellatrix was there to catch me.

I was always torn as to why she showed me when she did, part of me still likes to believe she only wished to share a memory, one she held dear, but the timing makes me think otherwise. Deep down I know she wanted to make sure I knew who gave me life, who made me who I am, who I was wholeheartedly dependant on. Her, not Lucius, and I would have be doing myself no favours to forget it.

Whenever I inhaled, her scent was the life-supporting component that filled my lungs, not oxygen. Her affection kept my heart beating at a steady pace, warming me entirely, body and soul, as it flowed through my veins. Now I feel cold and short of breath. My system doesn't function properly without her, it's becoming weak and slowly shutting down, I fear I won't last much longer.

If I look directly at the changing sun and ignore the empty space beside me, I can almost imagine her here and the pain in my chest eases, even if only slightly. The contrasting colours of light red, peach and persian yellow embellish the ball of light as it slowly lowers. It is a beauty Bellatrix probably wouldn't appreciate, but I wish she were here to see it all the same.


End file.
